


Pomegranates and Pineapple

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Prince Castiel, Prince Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hadn't really considered the morality of a forced heat before Sam had brought it up. It didn't really matter; he was still going to go through with it. It wasn't the same if he agreed to it, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pomegranates and Pineapple

**Author's Note:**

> so this is for the prompt sex pollen, which it does adhere to, according to the definition the fanlore wiki gave me. just barely.

“He has to do _what?_ ” asked Sam, voice more threatening than any 14 year old had the right to be.

 

“You heard me the first time,” sighed their mother in exasperation. ”It’s tradition, sweetheart, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before but it doesn’t really concern you.”

 

“He’s my brother!”

 

“And I’m what, chopped liver? It’s the way things are done, Sammy, and I’m sorry you don’t see that but-“

 

“What about consent? Morality? You’re his mother, you should be-“

 

“Does _no one_ care about what I want?” growled Dean dangerously. His mother and brother whipped around to face him, sheepish looks on their faces, but Dean ignored them in order to pull the cord on his red tunic tighter around his waist. His hair was braided back in multiple small braids, tips enclosed in small gold cuffs, and his eyes ringed with kohl. He had on gold arm cuffs engraved with their house symbol- a wolf with a bear in its jowls- and looked majorly pissed off with the whole thing.

 

“Of course I do, honey,” said Mary quickly, although she hadn’t stopped her preparations of him- she pulled a plain golden circlet over his head and dusted his shoulders where a cloak would later be pinned. “It is tradition, though. I know you. You wouldn’t want to go against tradition, would you?”

 

Dean ground his teeth. He could see what she was doing- it was as plain as day- but he couldn’t argue with her _blatant emotional manipulation_. She was right. He wasn’t going to go against tradition, no matter how much he disliked the idea. “Lay off, Sam, I’m fine. She’s right.”

 

“You’re literally going to be given food that will make you –well, _you know_ \- and you say _she’s right_? This isn’t right, this is the opposite of right.”

 

“It’s basically an arranged marriage,” said Dean, resigned. “It’s not that much different, and you know I’d have to do that. _You’ll_ probably have to do that.”

 

“No anytime soon, though!” said Mary in alarm. She stepped back from Dean and dusted him off, before turning to Sam and saying, “you’re a bit young for that yet.”

 

“And Dean isn’t? He’s eighteen!”

 

“You’re still talking like I’m not there.” Dean threw himself into a nearby chair with just shy of enough force to actually mess up what he was wearing. “I don’t really want my last hours in this house spent like my hours after that will be. Can we pretend for a moment that I’m not being shipped off to be some Alpha’s breeding bitch?”

 

Mary looked as though someone had fed her a lemon. “Dean Winchester, don’t use that type of language in front of me, thank you very much. In fact, don’t use it at all.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma.”

 

Sam still looked sick. He didn’t know why; it wasn’t as if Sam was being married off for a trade agreement.

 

Being an omega _sucked_.

 

~o~

 

He had already been married by proxy a week ago; dressing him up now was just a formality, because all extraneous clothing would be ripped off in a matter of minutes after his new _mate_ first saw him. Still, he smoothed his hands over his tunic nervously as he kneeled on the large bed, his feet bare in a disturbing insight in what was to come. He hadn’t yet drunk the mix of pineapple and pomegranate that would kick-start his heat- that would come with his mate, who would feed him it themselves.

 

Sam was right, it was slightly immoral to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to protest his mating, but at least Dean knew it was coming. If he was lucky, his mate would be kind enough to wait until he was ready to take the juice before giving it to him, but he had heard the maids whispering the other day about mates that gave it to their omegas straight away, that didn’t care for their opinions.

 

Mary wouldn’t let that happen, Dean thought, breathing carefully through his nose to calm his nerves. As an alpha- albeit a female one- Mary herself was allowed a voice in decision-making within the Council, and would have certainly vetted the prince he was to be married to thoroughly before letting him loose on Dean.

 

He hoped.

 

He sat there unmoving- a major feat for him- for another five minutes before the door opened. He didn’t lift his head, although he wanted to desperately, because he knew that it would embarrass his father- he didn’t like it, sure, but he’d do anything to get John Winchester’s approval. Even marry foreign royalty.

 

“Are you ill?” The voice was concerned. Dean almost laughed at the ridiculousness that was his situation right know- on his knees waiting to be fucked while he was being asked if he was _sick_.

 

“No,” he answered curtly.

 

“You look ill.”

Dean raised his head and growled, “maybe that’s cause I have to listen to _you_.”

 

A beat passed.

 

 

Dean stared incredulously into the stranger’s- _his mate’s_ \- eyes, unable to believe he’d said that. Not two minutes in, and he’d already insulted him beyond belief; he was in so much trouble. If he fucked this match up he would be out of the frying pan and into the fire, probably mated with some wanker from the South.

 

The man, on the other hand, was staring with some mix of amusement and disbelief sparking in his deep blue eyes. He was holding a golden bowl that Dean didn’t doubt held the heat juice in his broad, tanned hands, and had on a dark blue tunic without a cloak. While he was handsome, he wasn’t wearing anything that could mark him as royalty- other than his golden circlet that was slightly off centre on his dark, messy hair, which was the only reason Dean hadn’t mistaken him for some servant distinguished enough to be wearing House colours.

 

“I think I like you better with your head up,” said the man with bemusement. “You don’t look as though you’re about to throw up like this. Just like you’re going to chop my head off, which is an improvement over sick to your stomach at the thought of mating with me.” He set the bowl on a side bench and threw himself on the large bed, kicking off his own boots as he did so. Dean didn’t miss how he made them both equal- at least the man wasn’t some savage. That was something.

 

“I like me better with my head up too,” retorted Dean. “It makes it easier to gauge how it is I’m going to chop your head off. Right now I’m thinking that your own sword will do the trick.”

 

The man’s hand went to the sword as if on reflex, and Dean smiled bitterly. His own sword had been taken away from him, and he was unlikely to get a new one. It wasn’t done for an omega to wield a sword in peace times, although occasionally they were allowed to go into battle if there was a deficit of soldiers for the task.

 

“I’m Castiel,” said the man after a while. It seemed he was deliberately not responding to Dean’s threat, although Dean couldn’t fathom _why_. He’d like the idea of having a execution-off, it sounded more fun than a heat.

 

“Dean,” he replied, mostly out of courtesy. It felt stilted and awkward to have to tell his mate his own name on their wedding bed. He didn’t doubt that he already knew it- it would have been said at the marriage that Dean _hadn’t been at_ \- but it was impolite not to say anything at all.

 

Hesitating, Cas reached out for his hand, seeming relieved when Dean let him take it. “How do you want to do this?” he asked nervously. “I mean- we’re gonna have to do it anyway- do you want to just get it over with?”

 

Dean considered it, even though he knew what his answer would be as soon as the question had left the other prince’s mouth. “Give me the juice,” he said, taking the bowl when it was handed to him. He poured it down his throat, grimacing at the taste, and set the bowl back down on the counter. Cas ran his hand down Dean’s side, and tugged at the bottom of Dean’s tunic when he nodded, pulling it over Dean’s head.

 

The feelings of itchiness and heat were already slipping through Dean’s veins as he felt Cas’s fingers slip into the thin material of his hose, and he bit back a moan as his dick hardened. Cas seemed to have an almost scientific fascination with it- he watched Dean’s face for all changes in his expression as his fingers stroked up and down Dean’s cock.

 

Soon he was on the brink, need coursing through him, writhing on his back with three of Cas’s fingers in his ass, slick dripping down his thighs, and Cas’s mouth enveloping his dick. He couldn’t think past an immediate need to have something- anything- in him, around him, _claiming him_.

 

“ _Alpha_ ,” he moaned. “Alpha, _please_.”

 

Cas stilled, breathing heavily. “Are you sure?” he murmured.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Dean hissed.

 

In a hurry, Cas swept off his tunic and his hose, his cock rock hard, pre-cum  beading at the top. Dean spread out his legs automatically, keening when Cas placed his hands on the omega’s hips and pulled him up onto his dick. He set a brutal pace right away, but as aroused as Dean was, it gave him only pleasure, especially when he started catching his prostate on every thrust.

 

“ _There, there, please, alpha, please_ ,” sobbed Dean, and he came with a low groan as Cas’s knot swelled and the alpha sunk a mating mark into his shoulder.

 

~o~

 

When Castiel the first ascended his throne after the death of his parent, Dean as his consort refused the title ‘Queen’ on no uncertain terms.

 

“I’m an omega, but not _that_ sort of omega,” said Dean, annoyed. “I was a prince before, I’ll stay a prince.”

 

The High Councilor looked at him with barely concealed disdain. “All respect meant, Your Highness, but this is the way it is done.”

 

Castiel, King of Briton and its provinces, Lord Regent of Winchester and Duke of Enoch, waved his hand resignedly. “Give him what he wants,” he said, looking over documents that needed signing. “He’ll get it in the end anyway, best save your voice.”

 

The Councilor looked as if he’d been pelted with rotten tomatoes. “Your Majesty-“

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Have you been mated to him for eight years counting?”

 

“Certainly not!”

 

“Well then, I suppose you’ll have to defer to my experience, won’t you? Dean, you can stay Prince Consort, that’s fine.”

 

Dean nodded and sat back, spreading a carefully hand over his slightly distended stomach. It had been eight years since the less than auspicious start to his mating, and he knew with all certainty that he’d never been happier.


End file.
